Seeking Harbor Against The Coming Storm
by HalfshellVenus1
Summary: Sam/Dean Wincest, post-4x22 "Lucifer Rising": Even after a lifetime of uncertainties, things are less knowable now than ever.


Title: **Seeking Harbor Against The Coming Storm**  
Author: HalfshellVenus  
Characters: Sam/Dean (**Slash**)  
Rating: M  
Summary (_**Post 4x22**_): Even after a lifetime of uncertainties, things are less knowable now than ever.  
Author's Notes: Happy Late Birthday to **esorlehcar** and **deirdre_c**. Hope you both enjoy this, and I'm sorry it took so long to finish  
Also for **spn_25**, this is "Wait."

x-x-x-x-x

If they kept on driving, maybe things would change.

Dean didn't know what he was waiting for anymore, now that the worst had happened—or almost-worst, but that was nothing more than semantics. With Lucifer risen, Dean wanted to get as far away as possible, even if that was nothing more than the foolish illusion of safety or distance. Lucifer might be vengeful or grateful or just all-too-interested in Sam, or the world might be slipping toward the Apocalypse. It didn't matter.

Dean was done with the world, done with destiny, done with fighting. The only things he cared about were Sam and the chance to heal what lay between them in whatever time they had left.

He wished he'd reached that point earlier, back when he was dragging himself from one angel-appointed chore to another while his brother was slowly drowning in the arms of a demon. In the end, they'd only found their fate faster, driven from both sides of a larger battle by forces that sought to hasten everything the Winchester were trying to prevent.

Dean had never felt so utterly fucked-over and used, and that included his nightmare hiatus in Hell.

"I should have known," Sam muttered in the car next to him, the same thought he'd been stuck on for the last two days and nine-hundred miles. Dean had even caught him saying it in his sleep.

"Me too," Dean said, "because all of it was _bullshit_." He slapped the dashboard like it was Alistair's know-it-all face. "When the angels wanted to destroy a whole town for the sake of one demon, I should've realized humans were never a priority for them. But I couldn't let innocent people die, and I'd make the same choice again—even knowing it was another step toward the Apocalypse, I'd still have to save them. It's who I am, and the angels were counting on that." He felt the muscles in his shoulders clenching, and tried to force them to relax. "I think that's what pisses me off the most," he finished.

Sam sighed dispiritedly. "Ruby—" he started.

"Let you think you were helping people, killing the demon while saving the host. And you were, and I understand why that mattered. She also hooked you with the idea of working up your strength for Lilith. She knew how much you wanted revenge."

"For _you,_" Sam said fiercely, "it was always about vengeance for _you_."

"Wouldn't have helped though, Sammy," Dean said mildly. "It wouldn't have brought me back, and it wouldn't have changed what happened. And that's okay."

"I don't remember _you_ just taking things lying down when it was _your_ turn," Sam pointed out. "Wouldn't be here now if you had."

"Yeah," Dean admitted.

"And it was more than training and vengeance," Sam went on. "It was fucking _lonely_ after you died. I couldn't just show up on the doorstep of some family friend, not when everyone knew I was the reason you wound up where you did."

"That was never your fault, Sam. It was _my choice,_ remember?"

"And my job to get you out of it," Sam said miserably, "only I couldn't find a way to do it."

"Sam…" Dean pulled off to the side of the highway, miles from nowhere, but he wouldn't have cared if it was a downtown section of the Interstate and he was courting a traffic ticket. "No-one's _ever_ gotten out of it. No-one. It kind of goes with the territory." He touched Sam's leg in the dark, pressing his point like the imprint would last. "I didn't expect you would either, but you _tried_. That's what matters."

Sam was silent for a moment, the muscles in his leg quieting as Dean rubbed slow circles in with his thumb. "I know you're angry about what the angels had planned for you," Sam said finally, "but I can't really be mad at them, because they brought you _back_. No matter where it leads or how it ends, you're here now. And even though it must've seemed like you were in Hell forever, they got you out and you won't be going back." Sam bit his lip before adding, "Right now, that's the only thing keeping me going."

Dean followed the movement of Sam's tongue in the moonlight as it smoothed over the phantom wound left by Sam's teeth. He shuddered, his face suddenly flushed as he thought of all the times he'd pushed away the impulses that made him want to touch his brother too often, too intimately. For all he knew, Hell had been his destiny for a long, long time. At least he'd gotten Sam's life back for it in trade.

"Dean…" Sam said softly, like he was calling from far away.

Dean realized he'd been sitting there frozen for god knew how long, his hand still resting on Sam's thigh. "We should go," he said, abruptly snapping back into the present. "Get some more miles in."

They both knew they were running, but only Dean knew that it wasn't just from a threat that was only a few days old.

~*~

The first few months after Sam came back from Stanford, Dean would watch him sleep. Not always (and not _obsessively,_ he told himself), but he'd missed Sam so damn much all those years that it was hard to believe he had him back. Looking at the sharp planes of Sam's face in the gold-and-shadow lamplight of some motel room or in the glow of some passing town, Dean slowly edged closer to a kind of forgotten peace. And if Sam's nightmares over losing Jess or from unexplainable visions meant that he needed comforting, Dean was there to give it, the same as always.

It was when he found himself wanting to offer _more_ that Dean opted for distance over devotion.

For awhile, he'd thought he was over that. After Dad died, Dean didn't feel much of anything but anger and emptiness for months on end. Then he lost Sam at Cold Oak, and the cycle started all over again.

Nights, Dean would lie awake imagining all the horrors that waited for him when his year was over, and Sam's stillness in the other bed would bring back all the reasons he'd made that choice to begin with. Sometimes he would move stealthily over to where Sam slept, brushing a finger across Sam's cheek to feel its warmth or just watching the miraculous rise and fall of his brother's chest.

Days, he ate himself into oblivion and fucked a faceless stream of women to distract himself and keep the demons of his longing for his brother at bay.

He made it through that year, so terrified and desperate at the end that it was all he could do to keep from clinging to Sam and drowning in the scent of his skin. But he wouldn't leave Sam with that memory of him, leave Sam to hate him for any more weaknesses than he could help.

He never expected to come back.

He never expected Sam to be someone completely different once he did.

It hadn't all been Ruby, Dean knew that now. Some of it had also been him and what he'd put Sam through, and even other nameless things he could only guess at. But whatever the reason, he'd been too hollowed-out and broken to fix it, and Sam too walled-off and preoccupied to care. Dean wondered if he would've tried more if Sam had been happier to see him, but he'd never know the answer. Sam had remained unconvinced and aloof, like he hadn't really believed in Dean being there, and was loathe to let go of everything he'd been forced to become in order to survive Dean's death.

Months went by, and the chasm between them slowly grew deeper. With the angels crying urgency and seals breaking open and Ruby constantly tugging Sam toward darkness, he and Dean just never got past that.

Now that the world was cracking open—all of it their fault, a crime too overwhelming to even _own_—it turned out that finding their way back to being brothers was the only thing that still mattered.

Two more hours of driving, and Dean had reached the point of _done._ "Gotta find a place for the night," he said.

Sam sat up with a jolt. "Want me to take over?" he offered, his voice thick with sleep.

"Nah, I plan on surviving at least a few more days," Dean answered. Sam was every bit as tired as he was and far more stressed. Letting him behind the wheel would just be stupid.

A sign for the River Vue Inn appeared up ahead, and Dean pulled into the parking lot gratefully.

"Only two working rooms right now," the burly man behind the desk mumbled around a mouthful of chaw. "Still got the King bed left. We're renovatin'."

"Whatever," Dean sighed, handing over a credit card. So long as the doors were intact and the bathroom worked, nothing short of a live-in family of raccoons was going to bother him tonight.

"C'mon," he told Sam back at the car, pulling his duffel bag out of the trunk and handing Sam the car keys to lock up. When Dean opened the motel room door, he was greeted by the sight of fake fish mounted on the walls and a blue-green bedspread. Typical. He dumped his duffel bag on the side of the bed next to the door, and took his toiletry kit into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

When he came out, Sam was leaning heavily against the wall, clutching his own toothbrush and dressed for bed in boxers and a t-shirt. He stumbled sleepily past Dean into the bathroom, cursing as he ran into something. The door slammed shut.

Dean just rolled his eyes, too tired to even laugh. He took off his boots and pants and sat down on the bed, stripping off his jacket and outer shirt. What the hell—he tilted over sideways to lie down on the bedspread for just a second, fully intending to—

"Dean."

He blinked, taking in the angle of the walls and floor.

"Are you getting in, or what?" Sam asked.

"Just resting my eyes." Dean lifted up enough to yank the bedclothes back behind him, then rolled in and tugged them over him. The bed dipped as Sam climbed in the other side, and turned off the lamp. Then the silence moved in and stretched on.

In the dark, all of Dean's doubts became more solid. The room seemed to fill with the weight of tragic futures and bad choices, with everything that had gone wrong between him and Sam in the last year. Sam's guilt was still a tangible presence even now, and Dean shifted around onto his stomach, careful not to turn his back on his brother or anything else that could come off as rejection. It might already have cost them both everything.

_Red-black ~ Ruby ~ Sam's blood-slicked mouth ~ demon secrets ~ mocking eyes ~ and this is the Word of the ~ circle-sigil-doorway ~ shadow riders heralding the final—_

"Dean!"

Sam's hand on his shoulder pulled Dean out of sleep, and he lay there for a moment trying to catch his breath while the nightmare images swam through his head.

"Bad?" Sam whispered.

"No worse than what's already happened," Dean said hoarsely, and it was true. They couldn't change what was already done—they could only survive the future still to come.

Sam rubbed his hand tentatively over Dean's shoulder, trying to comfort him even while probably cursing himself for his own part in it.

Dean knew what Sam was risking with that offer, because his first instinct was to push that affection away like he always did, and he caught himself on the verge of making that same mistake again. Seeing things from Sam's perspective changed things—honestly, it was amazing Sam still bothered to try offering him that kindness. This time, Dean put his own hand over Sam's and squeezed, reassured by the feeling of still being anchored in a sense of family.

Maybe there was hope for the two of them yet.

Sam put his head down on Dean's pillow, close enough that Dean could feel Sam's breath at the back of his neck. After a moment, Sam spoke.

"You're all I have left," he said quietly, "but having you here is all that matters. I'm sorry I lost sight of that, this past year."

"Guess I did too," Dean answered. _I didn't try hard enough to save you, until it was too late. Too busy reliving Hell to keep you from finding it yourself_.

Sam sat partway up, leaning on his elbow as he pushed Dean onto his back with the other hand. "Don't go anywhere without me," Sam said, his eyes locked on Dean's. "Maybe the end is coming and maybe it isn't, but I want to be with you for wherever all of this winds up going."

Dean's eyes flicked to Sam's mouth—so easy to misunderstand those words, to read the wrong things into them, so hard not to want all the possibilities they seemed to imply. He hesitated, trying to get his bearings in the real conversation instead of the version his head kept creating on its own.

Something in Sam's eyes changed—like he saw or sensed what Dean was thinking, or maybe he thought Dean felt completely different about where Sam's actions had led them and was halfway to leaving him spinning in the dirt.

Dean opened his mouth to speak and found Sam's face suddenly right there above him, his breath ghosting over Dean's lips for the barest second before Sam closed the gap entirely.

The surprise of that kiss—surging forward like a wave of longing denied for years, for half a lifetime—made Dean's head spin. A low, needy sound escaped his throat and his hand wound through Sam's hair, holding him tight against lost time and the threat of regrets or whatever else might come to pull the two of them apart.

Sam just moved closer, until his body was flush against Dean's side. Slipping his leg over his brother's, Sam rolled against Dean's hip, rock-solid arousal trapped between them on both sides. They kissed harder, mouths opening to each other and bodies angling and rocking together, harder, faster—

_"Ohhhh,"_ Dean moaned, gasping and twisting under Sam's weight as he came in a heated rush.

Sam just groaned in response, the muscles in his back tightening under Dean's hand as he rode Dean's thigh. He thrust up sharply, hips jerking in rhythm, until he suddenly buried his face in Dean's neck, calling Dean's name again and again as he shuddered and gulped for air.

Any doubts Dean might have had about whether Sam wanted this like he did disappeared with the sound of his name falling from Sam's lips like the long-awaited answer to a prayer.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, moonlight falling through the space between the curtains onto Sam's arm as it lay across Dean's chest. Dean waited for it to be awkward, for something to shatter the stillness there between them, but it didn't happen. He was sliding down into sleep when Sam finally spoke.

"Tomorrow…" Sam started.

"We keep on driving," Dean finished. "As far as we can, until we run out of land. We keep moving."

"Okay," Sam murmured into Dean's neck. He shifted slightly, his arm tightening over Dean in wordless acknowledgement.

Dean just gripped Sam's arm and let his head lean gently against his brother's. He fell asleep with the whisper of Sam's breath against his neck, like a thousand times before all those years ago when they were children and their lives—even as Winchesters—were comparatively simple.

The next morning they showered and packed up again, their routine interrupted by a detour back to bed in the middle of getting dressed after Dean found he couldn't keep his hands to himself, not when Sam's chest and stomach were right there naked in front of him.

They were quieter afterward, as they finished getting ready, sly smiles and lingering touches marking the change in their relationship. The silence between them was finally peaceful, after a year of bitten-back arguments and misunderstandings. They were headed into new territory, on all fronts, but in some unexplainable way it felt as comfortable and settled as coming home.

Outside, the parking lot was still and the streets were empty. A fire burned in the West, its glow spreading across the sky.

"Where to?" Sam asked.

"North to start, and then we'll see what's coming."

As plans went, it was pretty thin, but it didn't matter so much anymore. Dean wasn't waiting for the end, or even for the other shoe to drop. That would happen or not, with or without him, and he was tired of trying to change the inevitable anyway.

He had Sam now, body and soul, and out of all the things he'd been and done—or had and lost—Sam was all Dean actually needed.

For the first time in years, he was happy all the way through. After Mom had died, he'd had maybe three days like that his whole life, scattered through the past and half-forgotten. With the Apocalypse looming, he and Sam would be lucky to get even a few days of their own now, and Dean knew it. He planned to treasure every moment that was left.

"Should we stop for breakfast?" Sam asked.

"Maybe a drive-through McMuffin. Something quick."

"You're in that much of a hurry to leave? We're already in the middle of nowhere."

Dean patted Sam on the leg, letting the touch turn to something slower. "I want to save time to stop later on, somewhere private, just the two of us."

"Oh," Sam said, smiling slowly as the idea hit home. "Sounds good. Compared to that, breakfast is definitely overrated."

Dean pulled back onto the highway, where the road and the mystery of their future were always waiting

_-------- fin --------_


End file.
